Why I Stopped Blaming Myself After Being Groped in Public

The train was packed with holiday party-goers. I had rushed to catch my usual ride home after having dinner with coworkers and found myself in a mob of loud but mostly jolly people, full of cheer and booze.

I leaned against the plexiglass divider, penned in from all sides. A man stood perpendicular to me, his shoulder hitting my chin. He smiled apologetically: Sorry for encroaching, but there's nowhere else to go. I smiled back, close-lipped, and stared at my reflection in the window. It was going to be a long ride. I put my earbuds in and turned the volume up.

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About five minutes into the journey, I felt a sensation on my chest even though I was wearing several layers. I looked down at the man's crossed arms. His hand, covered by his other arm, was touching my breast through my clothing. Instinctively, I pushed his arm away and he apologized. I wasn't sure if the grab was intentional, but why did he apologize when I moved his arm?

I was no longer listening to my music.

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We rocked side to side with the rhythm of the train, trying to readjust. The man moved slightly until he was facing me. It was impossible not to look at him, but I tried very hard not to make eye contact, even though I could smell his breath. His whole presence made me uncomfortable, and, protectively, I moved my arms in front of my body as best as I could in the tight space.

I thought about saying, "Stop touching me," but I worried everyone would laugh and reply, "Yeah, lady, the train is packed. We're all touching." Or, if I simply alerted passengers to this stranger's behavior, I feared they would glare at me as if to say, "You? Why would he touch you?"

I wasn't sure if the grab was intentional, but why did he apologize when I moved his arm?​

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The man tried to speak to me, but I ignored him. I'd commuted on this train for years, and I knew the route by heart. With my eyes focused out the window, I watched the landmarks pass by and counted the minutes to my stop.

He leaned harder and more firmly onto me. I began to feel ill — and I told myself it was from lack of fresh air. The train slowed, and we both prepared to exit. The man leaned down to pick up his bag and as he straightened, he grabbed me between my legs. My mouth opened, but no complaint came out. Seconds passed, the doors opened, and he hurried off into a large crowd. He was gone.

I stood on the platform in shock, going over it in my mind. Again, I questioned his motive and my reaction. Had I been assaulted? Was this assault? I worried I'd given him the wrong impression, but had no idea how. Was it when I smiled politely? Was I right to feel violated?

I cried hard and loud, but for what and why, I wasn't sure.

Over the days and weeks after the incident, I talked myself out of experiencing any anger toward this man. I believed there was a sliding scale of assault, and what had happened wasn't that bad. Most of my thoughts had been about what I didn't do, rather than what he did.

I decided against reporting it to the police because I feared it was too insignificant, too petty. I avoided taking the late-night trains if I was alone, and I changed carriages on my normal commute if I felt uneasy. I didn't tell friends and family what happened because I was nervous to hear their opinions; it would only upset me more if they were horrified or not bothered by it at all. I even Googled the definition of "assault" and read articles and studies as if to build a case — but it was a case I kept a secret.

I didn't tell friends and family what happened because I was nervous to hear their opinions.

My feelings about the experience were directly tied to how I felt about myself at the time. I couldn't take back the space that man took from me, but I could refill the space in my head with positivity. I took up boxing lessons — not just for protection, but empowerment. I read books on shame and self-image and assault. I started talking about that night with friends, and each time, I felt a little less afraid, and a lot more confident.

I know now with certainty that what happened to me was not a misunderstanding. There is no gray area. It was not my fault. The man took advantage of a situation, and he took advantage of me.

It wasn't just the boxing or the books that helped get me to this realization. It came down to a choice: I chose to believe myself. And I let that be enough.